


A Last Note, A Prelude

by fauxilya



Series: Flipped [2]
Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Affectionate Insults, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Canonical Character Death, Character Death In Dream, Dream of Past Life, Growing Up Together, M/M, Nightmare, Reincarnation, There's A Tag For That, but they reincarnated so don't worry, omg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:33:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26812210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fauxilya/pseuds/fauxilya
Summary: Imagine waking up and finding out that you and your enemy are lovers in the past life.Oh, and also the founding fathers are gay.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/Thomas Jefferson
Series: Flipped [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1953922
Comments: 4
Kudos: 69





	A Last Note, A Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> *gasp*Angst? and plot? In a series dedicated wholly to fluff? Impossible!

Thomas wakes up to the cold hands of fear gripping his chest. Groggily, he sits up and leans back against the headboard, the comforter slipping from his shoulders. He shivers as a chill enters his bones. 

_The receding light of the dawn. Mist so thick one might drown in it. Two faceless people standing opposite each other, each with a long, black object in their grasp._

Thomas drew a shuddering breath. _He knew these people,_ he has thought. His heart clenches at the sight of the shorter figure, for whatever mysterious reason. He feels like screaming; his legs want to move forward, to knock the other person’s gun out of their hand. 

But then—

_Click..._

_Boom._

_He aimed his pistol at the sky—Wait!_

A foreign emptiness expands in Thomas’s chest, clawing his ribs, threatening to swallow him whole. Before he knows it, hot, bitter liquid springs from his eyes, rolling off his cheeks in fat, swift drops. He finds himself mouthing a name, a lost name that seems to be pushing him deeper and deeper into the mourning darkness. 

_He was running. Running in the thinned, morning mist. He was gonna be late if he didn’t hurry. Fastening his steps, Thomas came to a stop at a familiar building._

_His surroundings blurred and shook as he navigated the familiar path; his feet knew where to go. Left to the stairs, then right. Then left again. He trusted them to lead him somewhere — to someone. Someone very, very important._

Thomas stills.

_Who could it be? He went through his memories, but it was a fruitless search. Every little detail about said someone he remembered, clear as day; a small hand that fit perfectly into his; stars strewn across a night sky; his voice, saying “Mr. Jefferson—” and no more, cutting off the latter half of their introduction._

_His legs carried him to his destination. He raised a fist to knock; then, realizing the door was unlocked, he pushed it ajar. He consulted someone that he supposed to be the doctor, their conversation fuzzy in his head, before entering the room._

_A pale figure, coddled in his covers. Blood had ceased to seep from the newly changed bandage at his side, leaving a few dark spots only. Sweat dripped down his temple. His eyes were tightly shut, his lips quivering. Face paper white._

That name is on the tip of his tongue. 

_“No, no, no,” he muttered as he raced to that person’s side, “you can’t leave now—not when—” he choked on his words and turned his face, not daring to look even at the person’s face. “I should’ve been there—I should’ve known Burr would’ve done that to you after you endorsed me in both elections—god, I should’ve be there for you, but I was too late—”_

_A hand found his, no longer as small as in his first memory, but aligned well with his latest. Weak fingers curled themselves around his, attempting to intertwine their hands._

_The person swallowed and croaked out a few incoherent sounds; only then did he realize that he wasn’t in the condition to even speak._

_So he tightened his grip on Thomas’s hand, even squeezing it in assurance as much as his strength allowed._

_Dream Thomas tried to blink away the tears, to practice the art of hiding his emotions that he had mastered during his years in politics, but even that he couldn’t manage._

_“I do believe in it—fate, destiny, ”he let loose his words, “it brought us together in the most impossible, most absurd way. But I now think it’s only toying with us all—granting us something so precious, only to take it away from us before long.”_

_He smiled in reminisce when he continued,_ “ _You scoffed in my face when I said that, remember? You refused to take for granted. You refused to bend to fate’s will. You said—”_

“‘It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves,’” The words come to him almost too naturally. Now that Thomas starts to consider it, he immediately knows what it is—an old, cliche Shakespeare quote he spotted on the first page of Alexander’s notebook. The notebook that he would often see Alexander carry around and scribble something down on, in class or out of. Being the good neighbor-slash-mortal enemy he is, Thomas once snatched it off Alex’s desk when he wasn’t looking and flipped to its content. Alex discovered not a half second later and scrambled for it, even landing a few punches on Thomas’s arms and chest in the process. Seriously though, Thomas has no interest in whatever love letter Alex could be writing in his precious notebook, so he gave it back with a tease. 

Now he’s curious; how come he remembers that quote with only one glance? And why would it so seamlessly connect to something happened in the weirdest dream he ever had?

_“Promise me,” Dream Thomas breathed, “Promise me you’d not go without a fight. Please,_ mon cœur _, stay with me—”his voice broke._

_He couldn’t feel the person’s pulse._

_Stay with me...stay with me...stay with me, Alex—_

Alexander. 

It’s been...a life time since Thomas last saw him. Alive. 

Oh, that, and he almost punched him in yesterday’s US history class. 

Alexander. _Alexander_ was that very important person. _Alexander_ was killed in that duel. He was holding _Alexander’s_ hand when he passed into oblivion. When he drew his last breath. 

Holy shit. 

Alexander Hamilton, Thomas’s obnoxious neighbor, the boy he grows up arguing with, the bastard who texts Thomas everyday at an ungodly hour just to irritate him—was his lover in a past life. As one of their nation’s Founding Fathers. Oops.

_Damn, the Founding Fathers are gay._

Thomas rubbed at his temple; it’s not even seven. He’s not awake enough for this shit. 

Still, Thomas decided to do one last thing before falling back to bed with a groan. He reaches for his pen and some paper, and began to write. (He went to great length trying to grab them off the desk without exiting the bed, and completed the task gracefully. He deserves a medal for that.)

“ALEX I MISSED YOU”—that sounds like a school girl writing to her crush. If Alexander doesn’t remember, which is highly likely, Thomas would never hear the end of it. He pulls out another piece of paper in the stack and muses for a second. 

“HEY ASSHOLE MISSED ME?” That sounds much better. Thomas grins, satisfied, then props himself up straighter on the bed and tapes the piece of paper onto the inside of his bedroom window. Alexander’s and his windows are conveniently opposite each other, so they sometimes communicate like this if they have something important for each other to know. Mostly they write strong-worded insults, though, when either’s annoyance with the other becomes too much to be limited to a small phone screen. 

Thomas receives his reply almost immediately—

“HAVE BEEN FOR THE PAST 216 YEARS, DUMBASS”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading <33333  
> kudos and comments are greatly appreciated xD  
> Find me on my jamilton fanblog @jamilton-rants We can scream over these idiots together (´∀｀)


End file.
